


The Language of Love

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo stays in Erebor, Body Worship, First Time, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Thilbo, background Kiliel, bagginshield, khuzdul endearments, post-botfa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: Whispering oaths of love makes Thorin's heart lighter, and words of devotion, adoration, and affection come across his lips easily.What he doesn't notice, however, is that he speaks in his native tongue all the time.





	The Language of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy unexpected anniversary! I hope you enjoy this fluffy little thing ^^

The study was quiet except for the soft scratching of a quill on parchment.

The sun had set long ago, but Thorin hadn’t retired yet. Oh, he should have gone to bed to get some sleep a while ago already – after all, he had to start on a journey to the Iron Hills tomorrow, and he would leave very early in the morning.

It would be his first diplomatic visit to his cousin’s halls as King under the Mountain, and there had been by far more preparations than there would have been if he had still been the Lord of the Blue Mountains. The compilation of his escort alone had been a considerable endeavour; every single dwarf had been carefully chosen – and Dwalin hadn’t been squeamish in his selection methods. An official travel itinerary had to be made – it might be perfectly acceptable for travelling dwarves to camp on the bare ground, but the King under the Mountain needed at least a tent he could retire into, and there had to be a certain standard of comfort … which meant there had to be a baggage train as well. And that again was a matter for itself.

Thorin shook his head with an amused smile as he continued studying the document in front of him. Balin – who wouldn’t join them, but would stay in Erebor – had told him that he didn’t have to complete the plan for the upcoming restoration of the Guild’s Hall, but that he was perfectly fine to continue where Thorin had left off. Thorin again would have none of that; he was determined to finish the plan himself. Despite his usually busy schedule and the late hours at his desk, he found enjoyment in such tasks. With his work, he was rebuilding Erebor. He was rebuilding his home.

“Still awake at such an hour, and with a smile at that?”

“Still awake, and sneaking around at that, masterburglar?” Thorin looked up from the parchment to cast a teasing smile at Bilbo. It seemed the hobbit hadn’t been to his own chambers yet; he was still clad in shirt, waistcoat and pants. His clothes were dwarf-made, but there was something about the cut as well as the colours that reminded Thorin of the Shire – something bright and cheerful.

“I saw there was still light in here”, the hobbit replied light-heartedly as he approached Thorin and came to stand next to his chair. He was holding a mug of tea in his hands, probably his bedtime sweet.

“And you came to tell me to go to bed already and get some sleep before my journey?”

Bilbo laughed merrily. “Trust me, I know better than that! I won’t try to lure you away from your work.” In a softer voice, he added: “I know that you enjoy this – rebuilding Erebor. But keep care of yourself, alright? Here, I brought you some tea.” He placed the mug on the desk, next to the papers.

Thorin’s eyes followed his movements, and in the moment he looked up again to meet the soft gaze of those eyes with their indescribable colour he knew that he was in love.

It wasn’t a realization that actually surprised him. He was very well aware of the feelings he had developed for the unexpected member of their company, how his initial wariness had melted away to be replaced by regard, affection, and ultimately love – it would have been impossible to ignore those feelings. And yet, Thorin had locked them away. How could he have borne them openly, dreading that he had destroyed everything that had grown between them and knowing that one day Bilbo would return to the Shire anyway?

But Bilbo was still there – after everything, he was still there –, and as Thorin looked up at him the restraining chains around his heart broke, and he was positively overwhelmed by the intensity of his love for Bilbo.

With a tentative hand, Thorin reached out and placed it on Bilbo’s hip. His touch was soft, his grip light enough for Bilbo to take a step away from him if the gesture wasn’t welcome.

Bilbo, however, didn’t withdraw, but even took a step closer. He didn’t withdraw either as Thorin placed his other hand on his cheek, but leaned into the touch with a soft sigh that grazed the dwarf’s palm. Bilbo’s eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, but he opened them again to watch Thorin with a softness that made his heart beat painfully fast; and when Thorin drew him closer to graze a kiss on his lips he answered the caress tenderly. Bilbo reached out to tentatively comb his fingers through Thorin’s beard, and his light touch was already enough to make the dwarf gasp. Taking the chance, Bilbo deepened their kiss, and all of Thorin’s concerns if the hobbit really wanted this vanished into thin air.

He wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s small frame, and suddenly he had a lap full of soft, warm and supple hobbit. Bilbo moaned against his lips as Thorin’s broad hands roamed over his back, and Thorin in turn had to break away from their kiss as Bilbo’s deft fingers tugged at his braids.

The sight in front of him, however, left him just as breathless as their kisses.

Bilbo was more than beautiful – he was truly radiant, and Thorin couldn’t help staring at him. The candle light gilded his hair and skin and turned his eyes into dark pools. His cheeks had reddened, just like his lips. They were slightly parted, and Thorin’s name came in a panted whisper across them. It was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard, full of sweet promises.

Forgetting about the mug of tea on the desk, he rose from his chair, Bilbo in his arms. The hobbit clung to him, and without interrupting their kisses, Thorin carried him through the study. The sounds Bilbo uttered when he pressed fervent kisses to his jaw and neck turned his knees wobbly, and he almost stumbled into a side table when the hobbit wrapped his legs around him for better hold. They managed their way into the bedchamber, though, where Thorin gently lowered him onto the furs and blankets.

Bilbo wrapped his arms around his neck to hold him close, and Thorin’s heart was full to the point of bursting as he began to kiss the beautiful body that was splayed beneath him.

“My dearest Bilbo”, he whispered into the hobbit’s soft skin and found a little relief in doing so. Therefore he continued to breathe oaths of love to make his heart feel lighter, and he spoke of his devotion, his adoration, and his affection.

What Thorin didn’t notice in the throes of his bliss, however, was that he spoke in his native tongue all the time.

 

***

 

Bilbo was dreaming, and it was a very lovely dream.

Strong arms were wrapped around him, holding him close and surrounding him with their warmth, and he could hear the steady, comforting sound of a beating heart right beneath his ear. It was lulling and peaceful, and his body was reluctant to emerge from this dream.

However, as sleep loosened its grip on him little by little, Bilbo came to realize that it hadn’t been a dream. His body was aching, but in a pleasant way that brought the last night to his mind and a smile to his lips. His hand sneaked out beneath the warm blanket to reach for Thorin – just to find the bed next to him cold and empty.

The hobbit blinked his eyes open. Of course, the journey to the Iron Hills; Thorin had left early in the morning already. Bilbo couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Then again … what they had shared last night had been more than a simple “I will miss you” could express anyway.

The blankets and furs slipped off his upper body as Bilbo sat up in bed. Lost in memories, he reached for the spot where his jaw met his ear, and the smile returned to his face, accompanied by a deep blush. The skin there felt irritated as Thorin had kissed him fervently, tickling him with his beard and whispering words in his mother tongue. A tremor ran through Bilbo’s body as he remembered Thorin’s deep voice and the Khuzdul words he had panted into the hobbit’s skin, their rough and yet tender sound. Bilbo had never thought it possible to feel so cherished, adored … loved. Happiness bubbled up in his chest, and he hugged himself with a giddy little laugh.

Then he remembered where he was. He was in the king’s room – the king’s _bed_ – bearing marks of the king’s affection all over his naked body. If anybody saw him like that –

Bilbo quickly pulled the furs up to his chest again as if he could turn himself invisible by doing so. He didn’t think that dwarves were prone to gossiping – at least not to such an extent as hobbits –, but Thorin was the King under the Mountain, after all. It might not cause a scandal if a hobbit was caught in a dwarf’s bed, but nobility probably had its own rules, and Bilbo had witnessed on more than one occasion how longingly the damsels had stared after Thorin. Their parents had had the same eager eyes, already imagining their daughters standing next to the throne and wondering how it would feel to address their own grandchildren as princesses and princes.

What would they say if they knew that the same king they hadn’t called _your Majesty,_ but _son-in-law_ in their daydreams had carried a simple hobbit from the Shire into his bed to cover him with kisses? Would they care at all, or would they dismiss the last night as a one-time thing and try to impose their daughters on the King under the Mountain nonetheless? What would they see when they looked at him – a harmless flirt, maybe? A mistake that could be ignored – or a problem that had to be dealt with?

He wrapped the furs tighter around himself, but then he shook his head firmly to get rid of such miserable thoughts. _Get yourself together, Bilbo Baggins!_ he scolded himself. _You’ve read too many romance novels if you’re thinking about forbidden love, court intrigues and such stuff. Thorin loves you and –_

_Thorin loves you._

Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe properly; his heart positively ached. There couldn’t be any doubt about that, right? Not after last night. He might not have understood a single Khuzdul word, but the sound of them, and the emotion in Thorin’s voice –

He came to the conclusion that it would be better to get back into his own chambers instead of dreaming about last night.

Bilbo felt a shiver as he climbed out of the bed and left the warmth of the blankets and furs. He blushed as he realized that he’d have to pick up his clothes from the floor; he had … _lost_ some of them on their way into the bedroom. To his relief, however, he found them all on top a dresser, folded rather neatly, and he silently thanked Thorin for his consideration. Only his neckerchief was missing, but he found it on the writing desk, next to a forgotten mug of tea.

Bilbo shook his head, smiling softly. It wouldn’t do that the dwarf skipped meals or didn’t drink enough; he would have to take care of him once he returned from the Iron Hills.

When he left the king’s rooms, he did so with a light step; and if one of the few people he encountered on his way back into his own chambers wondered if the hobbit wore the same clothes he had the day before, he didn’t care.

 

***

 

The days passed by, and as they turned into weeks Bilbo had to constantly remind himself that he wasn’t in a romance novel and there was no need at all for him to stare at the horizon so longingly.

He stared nonetheless.

Right now he was standing on a tiny balcony, one of Erebor’s many lookout points, and his gaze as well as his thoughts wandered across the mountain range and further on to the Iron Hills. A sudden breeze had him shiver, and he pulled his cloak tighter around himself. A deep sigh escaped him, and he grew irritated with himself.

He didn’t want to be like that – pining like a lovelorn tween, but he just couldn’t help it. He missed Thorin with an intensity that was almost frightening. He longed to be held in his arms again, to be surrounded by his warmth, to hear his velvet voice whispering endearments in that strange tongue into his ear.

Oh, that voice. He sighed once more, this time dreamily. Only a few days ago, he had overheard Glóin talking to his wife during dinner, and he was sure that he had blushed right to the tip of his ears when he had noticed a Khuzdul word he remembered from his night with Thorin. _Âzyungûn_ … It had a really lovely sound to it, and learning that it was an endearment that was used amongst lovers – _spouses_ – had put Bilbo in even higher spirits. That night he had hugged his pillow with a cheerful smile on his face.

Not all days and nights were easy, though. He often wondered what would happen as soon as Thorin returned from the Iron Hills. Would they – here the tips of his ears burned again – start a courtship? Or had they – and here his cheeks turned hot as well – gone beyond a courtship already?

_But what if things aren’t that easy?_

There it was, that voice of doubt, tiny yet persistent. It always crept into Bilbo’s thoughts when he least expected it, freezing the smile on his face within moments. It reminded him that he was a mere hobbit whereas Thorin was a king – of what had been one of Middle-Earth’s greatest kingdoms, a kingdom that was rising to glory again. But its rebuilding took time and effort, and Thorin needed allies. A marriage for Erebor’s future would be wise, not even Bilbo could deny this. Maybe he had been reading too much into words in a strange tongue – words whose meaning he didn’t know, but only guessed from the way they had been uttered.

No! He firmly shook his head. He knew that some people did rash things amidst their passion, but Thorin wasn’t one of them. His dwarf was true and loyal, and he would never play with his feelings or give him hope when there was none. Bilbo knew what he had heard, and it wasn’t fair of him to doubt Thorin.

“Have courage”, he told himself with another glance towards the mountains before turning his back to them and returning to his own chambers.

A guest was desperately awaiting his return.

Kíli’s face immediately lightened up as Bilbo entered his rooms, and he jumped from the chair he had been fretting in.

“Praise the Maker, you’re back!”

“Goodness, Kíli, what has happened?”

“Oh, ahem, I … I need your help. Like, I need your help really badly.” The young dwarf blushed. “It’s about Tauriel.”

Bilbo shook his head, but smiled. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought someone might have gotten hurt.”

“I will die for certain if you can’t help me”, Kíli mumbled miserably, “from a broken heart.”

“Have courage”, the hobbit repeated the words he had told himself some minutes ago and patted Kíli’s shoulder. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll make some tea for us, and you can tell me everything.”

He had hardly reached for the kettle when Kíli already revealed his sufferings to him. His beloved Tauriel had been staying at Dale for quite a while, not only being an ambassador of the Greenwood, but helping with the city’s rebuilding as well – and visiting Erebor and her dwarf as often as possible at that. But now she would return into the Greenwood to report to her king, and although she planned to return soon, Kíli wanted to give her a little keepsake, something to remind her of him while they were separated.

“I think she might like a simple letter”, the young dwarf concluded when Bilbo placed a cup of tea in front of him, “but I just don’t know how to start! It’s hopeless!”

“It isn’t”, Bilbo assured him softly.

His response immediately brought a hopeful smile to Kíli’s face. “So you’re helping me?”

“Of course. But the words have to be your own, you understand? I will only help you to arrange them.”

Kíli beamed at him, and Bilbo didn’t have the heart to suggest that they could write the letter _after_ drinking their tea. Instead he got up to gather paper, ink and a quill from his writing desk. He was glad to be able to help Kíli, but he was also curious. He had had the impression that dwarves preferred to show how they felt and that gestures played an important role for them, so he was excited to learn how they expressed themselves in love letters.

And maybe – just maybe – he could get a hint if Thorin would like to receive one himself. It could await him in his chambers when he returned from the Iron Hills, inviting him to dinner …

 _You’re helping Kíli right now_ , Bilbo called himself to order, _so stop dreaming about Thorin for some moments._

His resolution was futile; Kíli’s first suggestion to start the letter had him think of Thorin at once, and he almost broke the quill at that.

“Tauriel, _amrâlimê_ ”, he began, thus startling Bilbo.

“I … beg your pardon?” he asked.

The young dwarf cast a bashful glance at him. “Is it too much? I know it is … But then again, it’s what I feel for her, so why shouldn’t I call her like that?”

“Kíli”, Bilbo interrupted him, fighting against the flush on his own cheeks, “I don’t know what _amrâlimê_ means.”

“I’m sorry, Bilbo! Sometimes I forget that you don’t speak Khuzdul. I mean, you’re almost like a dwarf. After everything you did for us –”

“Kíli”, the hobbit reminded him.

“Of course, of course.” The young dwarf scratched his cheek. “ _Amrâlimê_ … it means _my love_ , but there’s a deeper meaning to it, you know? Like … it’s a word no dwarf would ever use lightly. Humans often do that; they call others _my dear_ or _darling_ or something like that very quickly, without thinking properly about it, it seems. A dwarf would never use _amrâlimê_ in such way. It’s a special endearment, one we would only use for someone who _is_ special … very special.” A smitten smile appeared on his face. “Like Tauriel is to me.”

“I see.” _Amrâlimê_ , whispered softly into his ear while a calloused hand caressed his face; panted in a rough voice as he dug his fingers into silken tresses; and once … once uttered in a voice he lacked the words to describe, but would forever associate with the feeling of strong arms wrapped around his body, keeping him close and warm, and a heartbeat beneath his palm.

“It’s a good way to start your letter”, he said gently. “Now, what else would you like to tell Tauriel?”

Kíli didn’t need any further encouragement. With sparkling eyes and a broad grin he gave Bilbo more than enough material to arrange a heart-felt letter. Sometimes, when he didn’t find the right word, he would use more Khuzdul expressions, and Bilbo couldn’t help smiling – it was rather endearing that both uncle and nephew seemed to feel more eloquent in their native tongue.

Less than an hour ago, he would have liked nothing better than having Kíli explain the meaning of those strange words to him. Now, however, all he asked for was their spelling. He was still curious, but it wasn’t the burning curiosity bordering on doubt he had felt before. Knowing the meaning of _amrâlimê_ had warmed his heart – no, his whole being, and now he knew that he could be patient and await Thorin’s return.

He was already looking forward to listening to his rich, smooth voice explaining Khuzdul words to him.

 

***

 

Bilbo was sitting in his armchair and reading.

Or rather: He was pretending to focus on the book in his hands although he couldn’t remember a single sentence from the last three pages. He still refused to put it away, though. It shouldn’t seem as if he was just waiting for Thorin to knock on his door – even if it was exactly what he _was_ doing. He had been waiting for several weeks, so why bother about a few more hours? And yet …

Growing irritated with himself, Bilbo finally placed his book on the side table and got up to help himself to a cup of tea.

An envoy had arrived in the early hours of the morning, announcing that the King under the Mountain would return home soon. Curiously, Erebor’s citizens had gathered as soon as possible in the entrance hall to catch a glimpse of the king. The hall had been full to the point of bursting; if Bilbo hadn’t accompanied Fíli and Balin he could only have contented himself with a place at the back. But, being at the side of the crown prince and the royal advisor, he had stood in the first row when the King had returned home.

Very regal he had looked, clad in functional yet precious travelling clothes, with a silver circlet resting on his dark tresses, and his escort in bright armour behind him. The dwarves had started to cheer and clap and stomp at the sight of the King under the Mountain, but their ruckus had hardly reached Bilbo’s ears. Somehow he had imagined that he would simply blend with the masses, be a face amongst many.

Thorin’s gaze, however, had found him immediately, and the smile on his lips seemed to be for Bilbo, and Bilbo alone.

There had been others the King under the Mountain had had to greet first to follow the protocol, amongst them Fíli and Balin, but also senators and high-ranking guild members that had already been curious for news from the Iron Hills. But eventually he had stood in front of Bilbo, greeting him by slightly bumping their foreheads together – just like he had done with his kin.

“Hello, Bilbo”, he had said softly.

For a moment the hobbit had feared that all words had fled him. He had missed Thorin so dearly, and feeling his warmth and closeness, finally _having him back_ had made his heart tight with yearning.

“Welcome home”, he had eventually managed to say.

Thorin had shown him a smile. “I missed you, but I’m afraid the senate is already waiting for me. May I visit you in the evening?”

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

Then Thorin had been swept away by other officials that had demanded his attention, and with another smile at Bilbo he had disappeared in the crowd. Fíli had followed his uncle – not after giving the hobbit a broad, knowing grin – and Balin had left after an encouraging clap on his shoulder. Bilbo again had walked back into his own rooms, wondering if he had been truly so easy to read during the last weeks.

The hours had only gone by slowly, but after he had placed the kettle on the stove there finally was a knock on the door, and the next moment Thorin stood in his parlour. The dwarf had changed into simpler clothes, but he still looked very regal, and very handsome at that.

They looked at each other for long seconds, both of them wearing somewhat tentative smiles on their faces before the whistling of the kettle broke the silence between them.

“What perfect timing”, Bilbo observed with a chuckle. “Would you like a cup too?” He headed back to the counter without actually waiting for a reply; he had already prepared a tray with two cups. Thorin watched him quietly as he grabbed the kettle and brought everything into the parlour. After Bilbo had poured them some tea he reached for the hobbit’s hand, almost shyly. He gently pulled Bilbo towards him, bringing their foreheads together.

“I missed you.”

Bilbo had heard the same words before, but now, with only the two of them being so close and Thorin’s breath ghosting over his lips, they made him shudder with longing.

“I missed you too”, he answered and raised his hand to place it on Thorin’s cheek. The dwarf made a noise deep in his throat, not unlike a cat’s purr, and leaned into the touch. “I thought of you often, and of … the last time we’ve been together.” He smiled shyly. “It was wonderful. But there is something I have to ask you.”

Thorin drew back, leaving Bilbo half sad, half glad – the loss of his warmth was almost painful, but at least he could think clearer now.

“Is something wrong, Bilbo? You sound worried.”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just … curious, I guess. You see, a while ago, I heard Glóin talking to his wife, and while you were away I also helped Kíli writing a letter to Tauriel. Both of them used words – Khuzdul words, and I recognized some of them. You said them when we were together, and … I was wondering what they meant.”

The dwarf had watched him fondly, but now his eyes had widened, and he looked rather startled. “Are you telling me that I only spoke Khuzdul to you that night? Not a single word in Westron?” A blush crept up his face. “The Maker help me, I had no idea – I didn’t even notice – I felt so overwhelmed and I –”

“Those were endearments, right?”, Bilbo interrupted him softly.

Thorin showed him a sheepish smile. “They were.”

“I guessed as much. But I was quite startled when I suddenly heard Glóin talking to his wife like that, or when Kíli addressed Tauriel so fervently –”

“You didn’t think that I feel that deeply for you?”

Bilbo couldn’t meet Thorin’s gaze; he looked forlorn, and his heart clenched as he heard the tremor in his voice. “I do not doubt you – how could I after our last night? But I’m afraid it’s too easy when one’s left with one’s thoughts …”

“Don’t doubt any longer.” Thorin cradled his cheek, making Bilbo look up into his eyes again. “I’m sorry for putting you into such a situation. I didn’t even realize I only spoke Khuzdul. I will try better, I promise.”

“I quite liked the sound of it.” Bilbo showed him a soft smile, and Thorin answered it in a way that made his heart flutter.

“Then I will teach you.” The dwarf leaned closer, but instead of bringing their foreheads together again he pressed his lips against Bilbo’s forehead. “ _Âzyungûn_ ”, he whispered fondly, just to add a few moments later: “Loved one.” The hobbit held his breath when Thorin cupped his face and tilted it slightly so he could graze a kiss to the spot behind his ear. “ _Ibinê”_ , he mumbled tenderly. “My gem.” Another kiss followed, this time pressed to his collarbone. “ _Kurdê_. My heart.” Thorin’s breath tickled his skin, and Bilbo thought that his knees might give in any moment. He uttered a little gasp when he felt Thorin’s fingers trailing along his neck. They slipped beneath his collar and pulled the fabric of his shirt down, just enough so he could kiss his bare shoulder. “ _Givashel_. Treasure of treasures.”

“Thorin …” Bilbo reached up, trying to find support by holding onto Thorin. For a moment he felt silken tresses beneath his fingers, but the dwarf gently evaded him. Instead he caught one of Bilbo’s hands and kissed the inside of his wrist. His lips were soft and warm, and the hobbit could hardly hear the whispered “ _Lukhudel_. Light of lights” above the quick beating of his heart.

Thorin’s hands wandered to his hips, holding him steady. Slowly the dwarf sank onto his knees, and he looked up at Bilbo as if he were the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes upon. The hobbit swallowed heavily; a lump had built in his throat. A tremor shot down his spine as Thorin’s nose pressed slightly against his belly, and as he kissed his navel Bilbo felt the heat of the caress seeping through the fabric of his shirt and right into his skin. “ _Amrâlimê._ My love.”

“Thorin”, he tried again, fearing that his voice might fail him any moment. “I … I don’t think I can take anymore. Please …”

“One last word.” The dwarf got up again and enfolded Bilbo in his arms. His blue eyes watched him fondly, keeping his gaze enthralled. “ _Amralizu._ ”

Before he could translate the word into the common tongue, Bilbo grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled him closer and sealed his lips with a kiss. He kissed him with a fervency that conveyed all of his yearning he had felt in the last weeks and that he was finally able to express. “I love you too”, he breathed before pulling Thorin into another kiss.

Once more, their tea remained forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul endearments are from the Dwarrow Scholar as well as from https://islenthatur.wordpress.com/welcome/
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this fic :)


End file.
